Expectations
by Alternatively
Summary: If that kiss had never happened... An alternative explanation for what happened next, and why.
1. Chapter 1

They were all sitting around in the second floor living room of Grimmauld Place. It was starting to look almost cosy, now that the decrepit wallpaper had been stripped and the furniture restored.

'Oh come on Ron, you can't possibly expect me to believe you never thought about the future-'

Ron scowled

'Well, I didn't,'

'But that's-'

'Give it a rest, Hermione, all right? I don't have any plans, or dreams or any of that shit, ok? I've never thought about it, and you asking all the time isn't going to change that. I was a bit busy trying to work out how to help Harry get rid of Voldemort,'

Hermione gave him a troubled look

'Argh, what?

'Well, it's just… you must have thought about what it would be like afterwards,'

Ron let out an impatient breath

'For the last time, _no_, I didn't. I'm going to bed.'

Harry and Ginny wished Ron good night as though they had temporarily experienced selective deafness. George nodded, with his customary haunted look, and frowned after him.

'But he must have,' said Hermione, 'Do you think it's something he thinks we'd think was ridiculous?'

Harry snorted

'Divination, you mean? Don't really see Ron as the clairvoyant type.' Not that he cared particularly what Ron decided to do- though it would be excellent if he decided to become an Auror… Harry didn't really think he'd ever be able to trust anyone else the way he trusted Ron.

'Well no, but…'

George cleared his throat dramatically,

'For the most brilliant witch Hogwarts has seen in decades, you really have overlooked the most obvious thing,'

Hermione blinked

'Yes?'

A flicker of something painful crossed George's face.

'He's telling the truth.'

Hermione frowned. Ginny threw a cushion at George

'Quit being cryptic. He can't possibly be telling the truth. Everyone thinks about the future,'

George looked from her to Hermione.

'Exactly.'

Hermione stared at him. It felt as though she'd swallowed a cold, thick, poisonous potion. George couldn't possibly be implying what she thought he was implying…

'You mean he was expecting to die,' said Harry bluntly

George shrugged

'But that still doesn't make any sense,' said Ginny, 'We all thought we were going to die,'

'Yes, but… we're not Ron,'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ginny was sitting all perched up now. Harry sighed and leaned further back into the sofa. It was weird to be talking about it out loud. He sort of knew anyway, but it was almost like his mind couldn't quite believe it.

Hermione made a strangled sort of choking sound.

'Chess,' she said, 'giant chess… but how- how is that possible? Argh, that is _so_ like him! But it's not possible, I mean-?'

George blinked at her

'I'd say ask him, but he doesn't seem to be in a particularly chatty mood just right now,'

'Do you know,' said Hermione brusquely, 'I don't think I care,' she got up and stalked out. George shrugged.

'Um,' said Harry, 'We might go to bed,'

Hermione stormed up the stairs, more furious with every step. Without thinking she headed straight for the roof, and there he was, sitting among the chimney pots in the cold.

'Let me get this straight,' she said, her voice dangerously calm, 'You did not expect to survive, so you didn't think about the future,'

Ron made an annoyed sound,

'For crying out loud, Hermione- argh, fine. No, I didn't think I'd survive,'

Hermione paused.

'Anyone else,' she said, her voice brittle, 'Would have thought that they _might_ survive. So if you didn't think that you might survive, that means that you were planning on dying,'

Ron shifted uneasily

'Not really. I just didn't think I would, you know…I mean, hunting horcruxes? It was always a bit of a suicide mission, really,'

He glanced over at her, and took in her rigid furious form. If looks could kill…

He sighed.

'Ok, look, I'll explain-'

'_What possible explanation-'_

'Hermione, if you're not going to listen, you can just bugger off and leave me alone, all right?'

Hermione's mouth snapped shut. She stood there glaring at him.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed again.

'You and Harry… you grew up in the Muggle world, you know? I didn't. When I was a kid, nearly every weekend we went to a memorial service for someone who'd been killed. We used to play this version of hide and seek… we'd all hide and we weren't allowed to come out until mum and dad said it was safe. I shared a room with Bill. You know he still has nightmares? I used to wake up in the middle of the night, and he'd be making this weird noise… kind of like a scream without any sound… The Wizarding war ended the year we were born, but it's not like everything that happened just went away, you know?'

He was gazing out into the cold dark of the evening, remembering.

'When you've watched the fall out from something like that… it's… I mean… you can't help but think that if it ever happened again, you'd do everything you could to stop it. So… when Voldemort came back… I… it was never a fight I could walk away from, but… I mean he killed thousands of magic users, you know, brilliant witches and wizards, powerful ones… and when he came back… I mean… we were on the front line… we were kids…' he shrugged, helpless, 'We never stood a chance,' he glanced over to her, quietly, almost apologetically, 'I really thought I'd be dead. Honestly, I really thought we'd all be dead. Maybe you or Harry might survive- he's a lucky bastard, and you… you're… unbelievably brilliant. But me? Nah. Best I could hope for was to die fighting, and hope that maybe, just maybe it would make a difference… So no… I've never thought about the future...'

He trailed off, staring out into the night again.

Hermione held her breath, and tried to choke back the sobs that were threatening to destroy her. Everything was falling into place, horribly, horribly into place… this was why Ron, with his brilliant strategical mind, had never planned- he had. He had planned to fight until it killed him, and that didn't really leave much space for a career. This was the reason he lounged about and ate far too much cake and didn't bother really trying with school work unless it was a practical exam in something defensive. Even quidditch suddenly swung into horrible focus- what does a keeper do? He uses his own body to protect the goal… and she knew he'd done that… seen him move, reposition himself so that he was blocking her and Harry from potential spell blasts… and she always felt safer with him there…

All at once, she couldn't hold it in, tears flooded down her face, and she was wracked with sobs. She felt weak and shaky and sick, and she couldn't seem to get enough air…

A soft strangled sound pulled Ron out of his thoughts, and he turned. She looked… he had never seen her like that before. She looked… anguished, desperate. She'd wrapped her arms around herself tightly, as though she was cold, or as though maybe she'd just fall to pieces if she let go. Her face was ashen, stretched into a bleak mask of devastation. Her eyes… she looked…like she was in unspeakable pain.

'I swear to God, if mum hadn't already murdered that insane bitch I would tear her limb from limb,' he snarled, 'Come on, let's find you a healer,'

Hermione fought to re-gain some control

"Don- don't die,' she choked, 'P-please don't die,' waves of panic swept over her, as she looked at him. Knowing how close she had come to losing him over and over again, and knowing that it wouldn't be the last time…

'What…?' this wasn't some after effect of crucio, apparently… she was freaking out about his hypothetical death. Tea clearly wasn't an option. He reached out and pulled her into a hug, and found himself instinctively curling around her, pulling her in closer and tighter, as though he could somehow squash out the panic.

'It's ok, it's fine- I'm fine- it's not- please stop crying, I never know what to do when you cry- it'll be ok, Hermione, it's, it's ok, I'm not dead, I'm not dying, I'm fine, you're fine, everything's just fine…'

Weirdly it seemed to be working. She was hanging on to him like a limpet, but the out of control crazy gulping-sobs seemed to have subsided into a more sane variety of weeping.

'Hey, d'you mind if I side-along you? We really should get out of the cold…'

She clung tighter, but nodded. Ron thought for a second that this was the weirdest thing- usually she took the lead with magic- and brought them twisting to a halt in her bedroom. She always left a small waterproof fire burning in the grate, so it was warm and flickery. The room was starting to look a lot like it belonged to her, Ron thought, staring at the stacks of books and rolls of parchment neatly stacked on every flat surface. The sudden blast of heat seemed to have calmed her down some more, because she loosened her death grip on his jumper, and somehow got a lot softer to hold. After a minute, she pulled a way a bit and stared at the giant R on his jumper, fighting to keep from crying again.

'I might go have a shower,' she said shakily. 'Can… you wait?'

What?

'Er… yeah, sure,'

'Thanks,' she stepped back, took a shaky breath and walked towards the door.

The room felt empty without her, the way spaces always did when she wasn't there. Ron ran a hand through his hair and sat on the end of the bed. He'd been in here before, but always with Harry or Ginny, or someone else, never alone, and never alone with her. Well, not for more than a couple of minutes anyway. When that happened, the temptation to reach out and touch her got unbearable, and he'd find some excuse to leave.

And now here he was.

Mostly he felt confused.

She was really upset. And that wasn't good. But it was nice that the idea of him dying upset her so much. But that was a weird thing to think. And it didn't mean she felt about him the way he wanted her to feel.

Which brought him back to the answer to her question.

He didn't know what he wanted to do, except… every so often his brain would spit up this little fantasy flash of what he might want. He'd known for a while that he was unshakably in love with her, but he had never contemplated the future, and so the little fantasy flashes were peculiarly upsetting.

Because he desperately wanted them to come true.

In the flashes, they were older, they were married, and they had kids. In the flashes, it was still them, they still argued and laughed and annoyed each other, but they had careers, and a house and a normal life… they had friends over for dinner, and he would cook, and she would pour wine, and when all the guests were gone and the kids were in bed and they were alone, upstairs, in bed…

Ron gave himself a mental head slap, and a sturdy reminder that these things were not to be.

He pulled his jumper off and felt a little better. The warmth of the room seemed to be affecting his eyes. He rubbed them, yawned and flopped back onto the bed.

Girls and bathrooms, he thought idly, how does it take them so long? The answer seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Merlin's balls, I hope she's not washing her hair…

The warmth was making him drowsy, and the thought that Hermione in the shower was a dangerous thing to think about flitted across his mind and vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh my god, did you kiss him? Did he kiss you? Oh god this is so weird, he'd my dorky big brother!"

Hermione pulled a face and reached for the jam.

"Nothing happened."

Ginny snorted.

"No really, nothing happened."

"Oh." Ginny blinked, crestfallen. "Really? 'Cause when I saw you in the hall, you said he slept in your-"

"Really," Hermione said, watching her hands as she spread butter and jam on her toast. She never ate jam. Well, nearly never.

She only really ate jam when she was thinking of him. He liked jam.

_What the hell happened last night?_

Hermione sighed.

"I really don't know what happened. I thought- I don't know. When I came back he was asleep on my bed and…" she trailed off, remembering and feeling confused.

Ginny narrowed her eyes over the top of her steaming coffee cup.

"And then what?"

Hermione eyed her toast sadly.

"He woke up, we sort of - talked - a bit. About nothing really. And it sort of fizzled out. And he asked if I'd like him to stay, and I said yes, and then we went to sleep on opposite sides of the bed like there was a blast-ended skrewt between us."

She took a bite of toast and thought it was pathetic that she was eating jam as a substitute for Ron.

Ginny frowned and turned her coffee cup around in her hands.

"Hmmm,"

"I am _so_ confused. What he said about- I don't know why I didn't think about it before- I guess I just- Damn it. I don't know if I'm mad at him or- or sad or- gah! I just- I'm so confused."

"I see that," said Ginny. She took a swig of her coffee and stole a piece of Hermione's toast. "The lads'll be down in a minute,"

"The who?"

"The lads," said Ginny, through a mouthful of toast and coffee, "It's what I'm calling them. Better fit than boys or men. This way they can be 'wee' or 'strapping' as the occasion requires," she gestured with her cup, "Not one of mine. Can't remember who said it. Might've been Hannah Abbott."

"Hey," Harry wandered into the kitchen, running a hand through his rumpled hair.

"Right on schedule," said Ginny, meeting him half way with a kiss. "Don't worry about it," she said over her shoulder to Hermione, "You'll get it all sorted in Australia."

"What's this?" asked Harry, helping himself to a slice of left over fruit cake, one arm still tucked around Ginny.

"Nothing," said Hermione, sighing, "Just… Ron."

"Oh," Harry looked wary.

"It's fine. We're not fighting. It just- It's fine."

Harry stared at her.

"Right. Good." He frowned, "I didn't think you liked jam,"

Hermione sighed. 

They hadn't talked about that night. It was… un-talk-about-able. Like they weren't admitting he'd said what he'd said, and they weren't admitting she'd freaked out.

They were really… quiet. With each other. Like some kind of strange calm had descended. Hermione wasn't sure what to say. She was tossing up between walking straight into a Ministry job or accepting one of several very flattering university scholarships. Harry was registered for Auror training. Ron was… planning on helping George out for a bit. According to George.

Hermione repositioned the textbook on her knees and gazed out to sea. She'd had to do some complicated magic to eradicate the glare from their little carpet of towels on the sand. On the towels, you could sit and not get sunburnt. She raised her face to the sun and took a breath of salty air.

Even if they couldn't bring her parents back, it was nice to get away.

Harry and Ginny were splashing in the knee deep waves close to shore. Shouts of laughter drifted back down the beach… Cute couple. Him with his messy black hair, her with her orange plait and rainbow bikini… a tiny couple built for flying… they looked energetic, coiled, alive. Ready to spring into action.

She never felt that way.

The last seven years felt strange now. Like they were draining away. All that adrenalin… Kept her pumping, kept her going all that time… and now she just wanted to read books. Just… read.

And him.

But if that wasn't on the cards, the books would do.

She stared out to sea, out behind the breaking waves to where George floated on the swell. A white stick figure with a mop of dark orange hair floating in the big green sea.

Molly had almost stopped them taking him. Nothing George or Ron or Ginny or Harry had said had made any difference. Arthur had said nothing at all.

"_We'll look after him, Mrs Weasley, I promise," _she'd said.

Molly's eyes had filled with tears.

"_I know, dear. You always bring my boys home."_

The weight of that nearly crushed her.

"_It was just luck," _she'd said.

"_Yes, dear. They're very lucky to have you,"_

Hermione shook her head free of that memory. So unnerving.

So was George, come to think of it. Ron seemed to handle him best. That was why he was there with them in Australia. Ron declared it would be good for George to get some sun. George declared Ron was turning into a broody hen and slipped a canary cream into his dessert bowl. And everyone had different opinions and no-one listened to George, when he said, eyes glinting dangerously, that he'd like to visit the land down under, if only for the punch lines.

Hermione thought they had a lot in common, Ron and George. Both overshadowed…

She closed the textbook on her lap and gazed down the beach to where Ron was ambling, loose limbed, hands in pockets, head down, puzzling out the sand.

_Ron and beaches,_ she thought idly, _there's just something about that combination…_ She'd struggled to sit up in bed, fighting off nausea and faintness, just to watch him walk down that stony beach outside Shell Cottage… those long legs… like the beach was his and they would go on forever…

She smiled and patted the towel beside her and he sat down wordlessly and peered over at the book in her lap.

"Just catching up," she felt herself blushing.

He gave her that lopsided smile in place of an affectionate 'know it all' comment, and picked up a small stick from the sand and began drawing patterns in it.

"You've read that one at least three times already," he said, talking to his own feet, "You're not going to bring them back unless you can do it without any damage, are you?"

He'd always been smart.

"No."

He inhaled sharply.

"Why not?"

And this was the price. He'd told her about his future, the one he'd believed was his and now she had to tell him her past, the one she kept for herself.

"We talked about it."

His head whipped round to stare at her.

"You _what?"_

"Hypothetically. It was a hypothetical. We talked about a lot of things, hypothetically. I think they would have pulled me out of Hogwarts if they could have."

He was frowning at her. His nose was sunburnt. She'd told him how many times that sun blocking charms wear off? At least he was safe now, away from the dangerous rays of the sun…

"I wasn't the easiest child," she found herself saying, "There was a _lot_ of accidental magic," which she had never told anyone about, "I think that's why I don't have any siblings," _oh god, why am I telling him this? _"They knew exactly how risky it was- what we were doing with Harry- but they also knew I didn't really fit in the muggle world. We always talked about it hypothetically… so they knew, but they didn't _know_, if you see what I mean. They always knew this was a possibility. After all the magical accidents I had when I was little, I think they were just so relieved that I could have a suitable education- learn to handle it- even if it came with entanglement in a warzone. God, they were so proud of me…"

Hermione trailed off, staring out to sea again.

Ron felt like his world had tipped upside down and righted itself again.

"I really can't imagine you losing control," he said lightly

She cast him a look, serious grey eyes under her lashes.

"Can't you?" she asked, softly, voice tinged with melancholy.

"Well," he said, panicking, realising all at once that he _had_ in fact seen her lose it, "Not _magically_\- Unless you count Draco with a bloody nose as magical," he grinned as she rolled her eyes and smiled, "Gotta admit, that was a pretty magical moment. Ah, the look on his face,"

"It _was_ pretty satisfying," she admitted. Her smile faded and she was gazing back out at the water again.

"So, we're not bringing them back this time," he said, nudging her with his elbow, "Get rid of that damn book. Start a campaign to get funding poured into memory research and come back when you've got it worked out."

She let out a little huff of laughter.

"Got it all planned out now, have you?"

"Yeah," he said, turning his decision over in his mind, "I'm going back,"

She blinked at him, confusion rippling across her face.

"What?"

"Back to Hogwarts,"

"_What?"_

He grinned.

"Bet of the three of us you never thought it'd be me,"

"That's not- what- Ron-"

"The way I see it, I need more time to work out what I want to do, George needs help with the shop, McGonnagall needs help rebuilding and this way I get to finish school as Head Boy and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team," He grinned at her, "Which is pretty much what I wanted when I was eleven before the whole Voldemort thing happened. Tell me how that's not a good plan,"

Hermione spluttered at him.

"You- you-"

"Plus, I'll be worshipped like a _god_ without you and Harry stealing all my thunder," He cracked his knuckles in satisfaction.

"You're unbelievable, you know that,"

He chuckled.

"Yeah, reckon I might be. C'mon, let's drag George back in and dunk him a few times before he starts thinking we'll let him float out to sea,"

"Fake shark?"

"Even better. We should put you on the books at Wheezies."


	3. Chapter 3

NIGHTCLUB

They were sitting in a booth in the hot evening, surrounded by coloured light and pumping music and people.

"Explain to me again why bringing George was a good idea," said Ron, looming forward on his elbows, fruity cocktail in one hand.

"It was your idea," Ginny said over the noise.

"I didn't say _whose_ idea, I said why was it _good_?"

"Smart arse,"

He grinned. Hermione found she was staring. Goofy idiot.

"Needed a break from your mum crying every time she saw him," said Harry, "Don't blame him,"

They all stared over at George. He was half standing, half-sitting on a bar stool, one hand on the waist of a beautiful girl, one hand in her glossy hair, and his mouth very firmly planted on hers.

Ron took a sip of cocktail.

"Nine whole minutes, haven't come up for air once."

All of a sudden, they stopped snogging, had a short intense conversation, and turned towards the booth. Everyone scrambled to look nonchalant. Ginny nearly knocked over her drink.

"Ahaana, meet- everyone. Guys, we're heading off," said George, leaning down to be heard, "Hermione, don't panic. It's a twin thing."

"What?"

The girl- Ahaana, evidently- smiled.

"I have a dead twin too. Freak broom-surfing accident five months ago." Ahaana shrugged, "It's a twin thing."

Everyone stared.

"Night," said George, following her out.

They exchanged glances.

"It's a twin _something_," said Ron, taking a big swig of his cocktail. "Should we be worried?"

"Erm," said Harry

"Might be good for him to have someone to talk to who gets it," suggested Ginny doubtfully.

"Yeah, they seemed to be having a good ol' chat,"

"Solace," said Hermione, "Not that I'd normally condone picking up people in cocktail bars… Shit."

Hermione was up and charging after them, wand out, despite being surrounded by muggles.

"What the-?" Ron leapt up after her, and Harry and Ginny flung themselves out of the booth after him.

Outside in the street, Hermione had her wand at the girl's throat, elbow high, an aggressive fighting stance. Ahaana's eyes were wide with shock- but mostly the '_what the fuck? Your friend is crazy'_ type. George was leaning one hand on the phone pole and sighing.

"You really expect me to believe you walked into a muggle cocktail bar and coincidentally met a witch your age with a recently dead twin?" Hermione's voice was low and deadly. "How stupid do you think we are George Weasley?"

The girl's eyebrows flew up.

"Oh my g-"

"Shut up," Hermione spat, "George?"

"Fairly stupid," he said lightly

"Really not the time for joking,"

For the first time in ages, Ron saw George grin.

"Fred would disagree,"

"Fred's not here,"

"No,"

"Sorry,"

"Fred's a bit of an arse,"

"Relevance?"

George sighed.

"Like the barmy blinkin' arsehole he is, the bastard cursed me,"

Everyone stared.

George waved a hand reluctantly.

"Any time I get within shouting distance of another non-muggle twin with a dead twin, they get his daft voice telling them some tragic sob story and stupid suggestions about how to cheer me up. Or did you not notice that people keep doing weird shit in front of me,"

Hermione was frowning.

"So… Fred's disembodied voice told you to make out with George and you just did it?" she sounded appalled.

"Please stop threatening me. I could very easily have you arrested."

"Ooh nice," said George, "Point out illegal use of magic in front of muggles too- she hates breaking rules,"

"Shut up, George!"

"Hermione," Ron touched her shoulder. She lowered her wand, still glaring.

"Thank you," said Ahaana, "And not that it's any of your business, but no, that's not what he asked me to do."

"George?"

"All I know is, she came up to me and said 'your dead twin is a complete wanker', and we really hit it off,"

"George, I really don't think this is a good idea. You don't even-"

George sighed. Then he took a step forward, and wrapped his arms around Hermione in an almost avuncular fashion and gave her a squeeze.

"Thank you for looking out for me," he said, very sincerely. It sounded weird. "But it's fine, really." He grinned and ruffled her hair.

"George!"

He took Ahaana's hand and started to walk off.

"Hey, wait a second!" Ginny shouted after them, "What did Fred say?"

George stopped. He dipped his head, looking down at the pavement. Ahaana leaned in and whispered something. He nodded. She turned and stalked back to them, stilettos clicking.

"He won't stop until I do it. That's why we're leaving. But it's not really him. It's like a recording. You can hear it if you like," she pulled her wand out of her back pocket, and gave it a sharp flick. There was a sound like radio static, and all at once, Fred's joking tones crackled into the warm night air.

"You! Yeah, you! You with the dead twin! Got a minute? I'm dead. Fred the Dead. Dead and brilliant. Died saving the world, regular hero, and I have one final thing I need your help with. Look around for a stunningly handsome bloke with red hair and the saddest expression in the universe. Found him? Right. That's George. George could use a little cheering up, mopey bastard. You know what it's like. Hex him good and proper, give him your underwear and tell him… tell him some lame joke about ears. He's only got the one- you might have to shout. Go on, you know you want to…. You! Yeah, you! You with the dead twin! Got a minute? I'm dead. Fred the Dead-"

Ahaana flicked her wand again, and the sound vanished. Ginny had Harry's hand in a death grip, tears streaking down her face.

"I'm sorry," Ahaana said, her face twisting into an apology. She tucked her wand away. "I didn't realise he was a Weasley. Too much of a coincidence, right, Hermione?"

"What-"

"Meet a cute British wizard with red hair and a dead twin in a cocktail bar in Australia. What are the chances he would turn out to be _that_ British wizard with red hair and a dead twin?"

"Say what now?" Ron was frowning.

Ahaana rolled her eyes.

"This is the other side of the world, but we're not in another dimension,"

"No, but- you mean you've heard of George?"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? That stuff's viral. Also there was that little business with Voldemort. I do read the paper. Well, no I don't, but you guys are kind of a big deal. Red hair is very much in at the moment. Being a ginge has never been so popular. The Weasley hype in this country is ridiculous,"

"The Weasley…?" Ron sounded faint, "Harry, you've been outshone,"

Ahaana chuckled.

"Bit difficult to outshine the boy who lived."

But the look she cast Harry made him feel raw. She looked so damn understanding. Like without knowing him at all, she somehow got it. Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny and half hid his face in her hair.

BREAKFAST

"I'm confiscating this," said Ron, reaching across the breakfast table and prising the book out of her hands, "Re-reading the same million books is not going to help. And reading this one- " he frowned at it, _Obliviation and the Self: a Guide for Victims_, "Is not only not helpful, it's- it's- look, you've got to stop beating yourself up. Find'em first, fix'em later."

Hermione didn't protest, but she didn't meet his eyes either. His mind flashed back to that night in her room- that night when they'd come so close, and shied off at the last minute, paralysed on either side of her bed, closer than ever and further apart.

Basically, he'd panicked.

But… he thought maybe she'd panicked too…

Like if they crossed that line there was no turning back…

But there was something here this time that wasn't about them. Some reason she couldn't look at him…

"Oi, whatever it is, just spit it out," he took a big bite of a honey-slathered crumpet, "Sherioushly, you can tell me anyfing,"

She glanced up and caught his eye, and he stopped chewing in the instant that her gaze darted away again.

Ron resumed chewing. He swallowed. Put the crumpet back on the plate.

"I may have just developed superpowers," he said, licking honey off his index finger, "Ready? Here goes: you don't _want_ to find them." He held her with his eyes, and for a second almost believed he _did_ have superpowers. "You don't know if you _can_ find them. You don't know _what_ you'll find. You might have fucked them up permanently. You don't know. And you, Hermione Granger, are really fucking scared."

An angry flush started to creep up her neck, and her chin rose dangerously.

_Uh-oh, diffuse! Diffuse!_

He held up his hands in surrender.

"Which is totally fine! But uh- it's messing with the plan. We know they were working in Lennox for a while, but it's been a year, and Australia is enormous. Books are not the answer. We have to start looking properly."

She looked flushed and furious, and just as she opened her mouth, presumably to start tearing verbal strips off him, he lost it and grinned at her.

She faltered, surprise deflating her fury.

Ron waggled his eyebrows at her.

"I'm right, so it's your turn to storm off,"

For a moment, a look of extreme annoyance crossed her face, and Ron thought maybe he was in for it.

Then she gave a shaky laugh and covered her face with her hand.

"You bastard, you're not even going to let me yell at you first?"

Ron, dizzy on success, found he was standing up, and leaning across the table towards her.

"Nope," he said, his body on auto pilot, hand reaching out to hold the side of her head- and before he quite realised what he was doing, he'd kissed her hair, and was saying "Not this time," collecting his plate of crumpets and strolling out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

HERMIONE

Hermione sat frozen in place, blinking in astonishment.

He'd just kissed her.

He'd just _kissed_ her.

Well, ok, so, the side of her head, but _still._

He'd kissed her like it was _normal._ Like that was something he _did._

Why on earth was he so incredibly, unbelievably, freaking _annoying?_

Hermione retrieved her book from the other side of the table where he'd left it.

RON

Ron stood on the balcony and shoved a whole crumpet in his mouth. His hands were shaking slightly. That whole situation had got way out of control, but damn it, he thought it had gone pretty well.

A mouthful of squishy crumpet and honey was reassuring in any case.

He chewed and swallowed, and took a breath.

_Two things, _he thought to himself, _one: never stuff a whole crumpet in your mouth, you git. And two: there is something there. I'm almost certain…._

RON'S PLAN

Ron waited until Hermione was in bed and Harry was in the shower and George- well, George seemed to be spending nights elsewhere.

"Hey Ginny," Ron flopped onto the end of the bed, "I need a favour."

Ginny looked up from the _Broomsticks Australia_ catalogue she was reading, and considered him.

"If it has anything to do with George's new love interest, I'm not getting involved,"

"What? Nah, not that. Hey, look, I might have a lead on- well, you know, but I don't want to get her hopes up or anything. Do you think you could like, plan some girly day out or something tomorrow? Keep her out of the way while I check it out? It might be nothing, but if it is them-"

Ginny eyed him thoughtfully.

"Are you taking Harry?"

"Uh-"

She grinned suddenly.

"You prat. You really have found them, haven't you!"

"Well-"

"And you're not taking Harry because you want to be the hero,"

"Hey, that's not- look, will you do it or not?"

Ginny smirked at him.

"You are so pathetic, you know that,"

"Gee thanks," said Ron dryly, "So will you do it? Or do I have to ask Ahaana or whatever her name is,"

Annoyance flashed across Ginny's face.

"Of course I'll do it," she said, picking up the catalogue and irritably flicking pages, "I mean, I would _rather_ go broomstick shopping with Harry and George, but if you _insist_ I'm sure I could let myself be dragged through every second hand bookshop in the Northern Rivers,"

Ron let out a relieved breath

"Thanks Ginny, you're the best,"

"Yes," said Ginny crossly, "And don't you forget it," she glared at him, but her expression softened, "I hope you find them," she said reluctantly, "I really hope you do,"

"Yeah," said Ron, "Me too."

MULLUMBIMBI HINTERLAND

"Ron, are you _sure _this is the way? I did look up all the bookshops in the area, and there was nothing out here,"

Ron grinned.

"I didn't say it was a bookshop, I said it was a surprise. Come on it's not far,"

Hermione made a disgruntled sound and evaded a large puddle which meant walking half into some kind of dark green foliage which set a million insects to flight. She stumbled, and put her foot in the puddle anyway.

"Great. It is extremely hot, and extremely humid, and I'm pretty sure I had a nightmare about my hair doing exactly what it's doing at the moment, so this had better be a damn good…" the words died on her lips.

She was hallucinating. Or dreaming. Maybe she was asleep. No, it was far too hot. It felt real. She felt dizzy though, and like she couldn't hear. But she could hear everything. Their voices.

But it couldn't be.

She felt Ron's big hand on her elbow, tugging her forward towards them, and they were crying, and saying her name over and over again, and suddenly it all snapped into clear focus, into real time, and she was being hugged by two people who looked and sounded _exactly _like her parents except…

"You smell funny," she said, and burst into tears.

Ron was feeling very pleased with himself, right up until she pulled out her wand.

"Whoah, whoah, Hermione, what are you doing?"

He whipped in front of the Grangers, hands out to defend them in the same manner as a quidditch goal.

"They're not real," she said, "Ron they're not my- they can't be, they're all- they're-"

Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to dash past him. Ron grabbed her as she went and ended up holding her tightly on a funny sideways angle and talking into the stupendous cloud of her hair.

"I checked Hermione. They are. They are your parents. And they remember you. And yes they smell like hippies, and they're wearing funny shorts and the most ridiculous shoes I've ever seen in my life and I'm one hundred percent certain your mum is not wearing a bra, but they _are_ your parents. I checked. I double checked. I triple, quadruple checked, because I didn't want to tell you without being sure."

She was gulping and shaking and clearly panicking.

Ron sighed. Time for a bit of blatant manipulation.

"Don't you want to know how they got their memories back?"

She flinched, and stopped sobbing abruptly.

"It's a bit much all at once," said Mrs Granger, anxiously, "Sorry Ronald, I completely forgot we never used to dress like this,"

"And it's just citronella," said Mr Granger, "I guess we've just go so used to it, living out here in the bush…"

Hermione seemed to have snapped out of it. Ron tentatively released his hold on her, and she pushed at her hair impatiently, and put her chin up.

_Uh oh. Battle Hermione. Good luck Grangers…_ Ron winced.

"I don't believe it, but I am prepared to be convinced," said Hermione icily, "While I can't think why anyone would want to impersonate my parents, except to kill me or Harry-"

"Gee thanks"

"-or Ron, I also know from extensive research that reversing the effects of obliviation is simply not possible. So you had better have a pretty damn convincing explanation."

Mr Granger beamed.

"That's my girl," he said, "Fancy some tea?" He gestured behind him to the verandah, where the makings of afternoon tea were laid out on the table.

"Emphatically not," said Hermione, "Poisoning might be obvious and facile, but it's still effective."

She stalked up the path and steps and sat down at the table. Ron decided his plan to leave them to a touching family reunion of tears and tales and tea had gone decidedly awry, and he'd better stay. He reached for a slice of watermelon and found his hand instantly batted away by a forceful blast from Hermione's wand.

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Better make it quick, this spread looks delicious,"

Mr Granger pushed his glasses more securely onto his nose, and sat down.

It was such an idiomatic thing. Such a particular action. So… Dad. Hermione felt an involuntary lurch of emotion and clenched her wand tighter.

He wasn't. He couldn't be. He was wearing a _t-shirt_, for heaven's sake.

Her mother, or at least, the woman who looked like her mother but from an alternate universe, was fidgeting nervously with the teapot. Her hair was short. It had never been short before.

Hermione frowned.

"I suppose we had better start at the beginning," said Mrs Granger

"Which beginning? From when we were not ourselves, or from when we decided to futureproof ourselves?" Mr Granger seemed to think this was a reasonable question.

"From when we were not ourselves," said Mrs Granger, "That will make the most sense I think."

"Right," Mr Granger smiled. "The flight over here is something of a blur. I'd say we were both on autopilot, what with the memory overwrite and everything. I think we'd been working in Sydney, staring at teeth, for what? About a month? Before we noticed."

Mrs Granger was nodding.

"And as soon as we did notice, we couldn't believe we hadn't noticed before,"

"Noticed what?"

They both grinned. It was a relaxed, happy look. Not at all like her parents.

"The tattoos,"

Hermione frowned. Mr Granger slid his chair back and started to pull up the shorts to reveal his hairy white thighs. Mrs Granger did the same.

Hermione blinked. This was… they were definitely not her parents.

"It had to be somewhere not normally on view," explained her mother apologetically, "And honestly, we didn't think you'd send us somewhere with beaches,"

Tattooed upsidedown across the thighs of Mr and Mrs Granger, was a web address on the left thighs, and a series of numbers on the rights, arranged like a paragraph.

"We thought about getting different ones, you know, so that we'd need both of us to solve it, but then we thought, what if one of us was killed-"

"-or died of natural causes, or got lost or something," added Mrs Granger hastily.

"So we got the same ones, so even if you'd obliviated us into thinking we didn't know each other, there would still be a connection,"

"Obviously, we went to the web address straight away," Mrs Granger smoothed the cotton of her shorts back down over her thighs and crossed her legs neatly, "But it took us a few months to crack the code in the number section,"

Ron seized the opportunity while Hermione was looking pinched and green to steal a piece of pineapple from the fruit platter.

"See, the website was password protected. It said that if we were the right people, we would have access to a piece of code, and only if we were able to find the key word would we be able to solve the code and discover the password."

Dad loved codes. Encryption. Spy movies. Annoyingly in character. Hermione's frown deepened.

"This is where it gets good," said Ron, licking pineapple juice off his fingers.

"We _knew_ something wasn't right," Said Mrs Granger, "There was something missing,"

"And in retrospect, I have to say, I think we took one hell of a risk," Mr Granger pushed at his glasses again. "It worked out ok, but I don't know- I don't remember, but I suppose you can't really believe obliviation is going to take it all until it has, and you're on the other side."

"That remains to be seen," said Hermione tersely, "What was the key word?"

"Your name," said Mrs Granger, "You're our daughter. You're… unforgettable. Of course it was your name. You said time and again that love was a powerful magic in its own right- that it saved Harry's life- we thought that meant that we couldn't, wouldn't ever forget you."

"We were right," said Mr Granger, "Well, we were sort of right. Neither of us could shake the feeling that there was something very important missing."

"We tried all sorts of logical things for the key word- though in retrospect how logical you can be when trying to work out the key to a code for the password to a site entitled 'things you've forgotten' is up for debate,"

"But eventually we found we kept coming back to your name. It was just one of those things, in our dreams, floating in the back of our minds- we kept having these odd conversations about what an excellent name Hermione is, and what kind of a person might have that name- and one night, I tried it, and it worked."

"So what do the tattoos say?"

"Our names, your name and the password to the website,"

"And on the website?"

"A video of us, explaining everything, and providing as much evidence as possible. The site also contains digitised copies of as much of our family photos and paperwork as we managed to upload before the memory wipe,"

"Right." Hermione was rolling her wand back and forth between her fingers. Pensive, thought Ron, good.

"Of course, it was fascinating, but we still didn't really _remember_, you see, so we fluctuated between believing, and just thinking we were mad or part of some very elaborate practical joke,"

"And that's when we went looking,"

"For?"

"Magic."

As the conversation continued, Ron served himself a nice pile of fruit and leaned back in his chair. She hadn't let go of her wand yet, but now it looked like an afterthought.

Ron ate another piece of pineapple and tried to squash down feelings of annoyance. Of course she wouldn't believe it. Of course she would question it. You don't spend your teenage years dodging death and mayhem only to take the first really good thing to happen at face value.

But it still hurt that she hadn't believed him.

Typical.

Ron realised he was annoyed at himself for being annoyed. And for not having realised that she wouldn't believe it.

He'd wanted to find her parents. He'd thought, best case scenario, they're fine, so he'd looked up 'Granger' in the phone book. And after meeting a bunch of miscellaneous unrelated Grangers, he'd found them.

It was the stupidest thing.

He wouldn't have been the slightest bit convinced, except that when he'd been walking up the driveway, Mr Granger, halfway through planting mango trees, had dropped everything and called out to him.

"Ron! Ron Weasley? Is that you? Ha! HaHA! It is! It is you!"

And Ron had found himself being heartily embraced by a very sweaty, soil covered, hippie version of Hermione's father.

And after some kind of quinoa cupcake and conversation, and both parents agreeing to submit to whatever tests he wished to place them under, and the surprising revelation that this driveway was one of many on the mountainside that served as an oasis for magic users, squibs and muggles in the know, Ron had reached the conclusion that they were her parents.

It had helped a lot that they'd insisted he prove his identity, and that they had asked a neighbour over as a safety measure during the tests. The neighbour had wafted in like the personification of incense, and reminded Ron strongly of Luna.

They explained that they had been following the news very closely, that they'd been clinging to every mention of Harry and his friends, and that the news of Voldemort's defeat had sent them into a cycle of panic because the papers at first had not reported who had survived. They'd known that Harry, Ron and Hermione were in Australia. That had been in the papers too. So they sat tight, and hoped that someone would think to just look them up.

"Hermione's smart, we knew she'd work it out eventually," Mrs Granger had said, and Ron had tried not to feel small.

The Grangers' memories weren't perfect. 'Returning in trickles' was how Mrs Granger had described it. She didn't remember Ron particularly. Said she had a clearer memory of Harry, though Mr Granger couldn't remember him at all.

Ron realised he was still feeling a tad insulted by being forgotten by someone who'd been obliviated. Ridiculous really.

He picked up a lychee, and realised as he started peeling it that being remembered by Mr Granger made him feel important, and that was why he was now thinking of Mr Granger as being really rather excellent.

His next feeling was shame.

This was turning out to be an awful afternoon.

HEADING BACK

With the exception of saying thank you, Hermione was silent all the way back to the apparition spot they had chosen.

Ron squashed feelings of annoyance all over again. He'd done it. He'd actually found her parents, when she couldn't, and now she was… what? Giving him the cold shoulder? Ignoring him? Unbelievable, just _unbelievable…_

In the same moment he felt a surge of empathy for her.

It can't be easy, finding the thing you were terrified of finding. Or realising you were wrong. She was so smart. Being wrong must be quite hard.

A little hard angry part of Ron's brain suggested she should just get over it, other people were wrong all the time and had to deal with it, and was she just annoyed with him because he'd done something she couldn't?

He was part way through giving in to the little angry monster in his mind, bitterly thinking that try as he might, no-one would ever see him as anything other than stupid, when Hermione slipped her hand into his.

He glanced down at her, startled.

She didn't look up, just ahead, trudging down the track in front of them, stepping round potholes.

Her hand was cold.

The day was very muggy.

He ran his thumb lightly across her fingers, and she clung tighter.

Maybe he was being unfair.

They said nothing, and when they got to the apparition spot, she let go and disapparated as though she'd never existed.


	5. Chapter 5

LIVING ROOM

"She needs space," said Ginny, as Ron appeared with a bang.

"But-"

"_Space."_ Said Ginny firmly, "Didn't want to talk to me, doesn't want to talk to you. Besides, I take it you found them, and I want to hear all about it. In payment, for taking her to that spa yesterday,"

"Right, because it was torture being pampered all day,"

"You have clearly never been in a sauna in the tropics." Said Ginny pointedly, "I thought I might die. Hermione's hair _inflated_ if such a thing is possible, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, the masseuse decided to rub us all over with boiling hot rocks. And just when we thought death by heat exhaustion was our ultimate fate, we were sent to a plunge pool and nearly froze to death. The only good part about it was the pink bubbly with strawberries, and my extremely glamorous talons," she waggled her manicured fingernails at him. They were enormous and a sort of metallic eggplant colour. Ron pulled a face. Ginny grinned.

"Terrifying, aren't they," Her grin widened, "Harry's being very polite about them. Come on, sit down and tell me all about it, you big hero, you."

Ron flickered with annoyance, and nearly told her to get stuffed. But she did really want to know. Her particular variety of self-interest meant she never asked out of politeness; she was a bit like Fred in that way.

Besides, he had to tell someone about it.

BALCONY

"Hermione, would you stop pacing? Ron found them, they're ok- hell, they're better than ok, they actually remember you and they're on the mend. That's like, unprecedented recovery from obliviation. I think I'd be deliriously happy. So what's wrong? Do you think it might be a trap?"

"I just- I can't- I'm _overwhelmed,_ Harry, I don't know what to do, there's just too much, I feel like I'm going to _explode- _I just- no, it's not a trap- I mean, I know it's them, I mean it's _really them_, and they don't _hate_ me for doing what I- what I did- I just-"

Harry frowned.

"So what do you want me to do?"

Hermione uttered a sound of complete frustration.

"Just- just- _argh! _I'm confused, Harry, I just need- I just need you to be my friend for a moment, ok-"

"I am your friend," said Harry, puzzled.

"Well then, just _listen,"_ said Hermione crossly.

"I _am_ listening," said Harry, starting to get annoyed, "But you're not really saying anything,"

Hermione let out a little shriek of frustration and flung round at him. Harry took an accidental step back.

"What if it was you, Harry, hmm? What if your parents, your _dead_ parents were suddenly miraculously alive, living like hippies out the back of beyond. What if they were alive, despite everything, despite all the time you- What if you'd accepted it, and you knew they were dead, and that it was your fault, and then suddenly, here they are, not even bothered that it was your fault, and telling you that they were really _worried, _Harry, really _worried,_ about you when we were off chasing horcruxes, and they were reading the paper, and _thinking about you_, and congratulating themselves on being so clever at not being dead, and all the while you're there, stuck in that fucking tent, waiting to be slaughtered, and thinking that at least they were safe and nothing could hurt them, and all the while they're living in plain view, under their own fricking _names_ and hanging out with hippie-dippy crystal-hugging _clairvoyants_, and planting _mango trees,"_ she paused to breathe. "As though they weren't at any risk of being _tortured to death,"_

Harry blinked and scratched his head. He felt a bit sick.

"Oh. Yeah, ok," He thought he did see what she meant. "But, they're ok, so-"

"_Harry,"_ Her voice was pleading now, she sounded desperate. Her tear smudged eyes were seemed to be begging him to do something unspecified.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked, "Investigate for you? I mean, we can get them checked again, if you like, probably should do that anyway-"

"I know, I know, it's not that, look, I'm just confused, I don't know- I'm not- I don't know what to feel- I don't know if I want to work at the ministry-"

"Sorry, what?" said Harry, baffled by this sudden unexpected segue, "What's that got to do with-"

"_Nothing!"_ Hermione was practically pulling her hair out, "Nothing, I- It's just-"

"So what do you want me to _do?_" Harry was starting to feel like pulling his own hair out.

A kookaburra cackled somewhere nearby and Hermione bit off a reluctant laugh, and wiped her eyes.

"I-" she frowned and tried to think about it without getting tangled up in all the feelings.

"Validate," said Ginny from the door way. She clicked her purple nails on the door sill, "Tell her she's allowed to be confused, then tell her it'll all work out fine, and give her a hug,"

Harry cast Ginny a look of deep relief.

"Why don't you-"

"Nope," said Ginny, "She'll tell me about it later. She came to talk to her best friend. That's you. And, if I had to guess, I'd say you're the only person she doesn't feel confused about right now. I bullied her into buying sexy underwear yesterday after the spa and she hasn't forgiven me yet."

"What about-"

"Oh you think she has clear-cut, easy-to-understand, non-confusing feelings about Ron?"

"Er…"

"Ginny, it's not that you're not- I mean, I _do_ want to talk to you about- it's just-"

"Harry's your best friend," said Ginny firmly, "Don't sweat it, really. And we are extremely good friends now, and that's awesome, but I'm not Harry. And I know you're a teensy bit mad about the lingerie,"

The kookaburras raised their cackling to a whole new level of din.

"Even they think the idea of me in lingerie is funny," said Hermione grimly.

"Oh, they're just birds," said Ginny blithely. "I only came to check on you because all the yelling was freaking Ron out. He thinks he's done a good thing, you know, finding your parents. And I have to say, I think he _has_ done a good thing. I'm going to tell him it was very clever to look in the one place none of us would've thought of looking, that should bolster him up a bit,"

With a flick of orange hair she was gone, slamming the sliding screen door behind her.

"You know, I'm crazy about her, but she can be very annoying sometimes," said Harry, opening his arms for what was apparently a compulsory friend hug.

Hermione gave a watery chuckle and stepped into the hug. Harry got a faceful of sweaty fuzzy hair and tactfully decided not to mention it.

"Everything is very confusing and overwhelming," said Harry experimentally, "But you're very smart and it'll all work out fine," He patted her back, "And you're right about everything,"

Hermione gave a gurgle of laughter.

"The most ridiculous thing of all is that even though Ginny just told you to do that, and even though I _know_ you don't really know what you're doing, it still works,"

"Er…"

"Well, don't _stop,"_

"Oh right, ok then. Everything is all muddled up. Is that right?"

Hermione nodded.

"And topsyturvey and upside down, and confusing." He tried to think of more synonyms. "Erm. Everything is an enormous confusing tangle."

She was still nodding. The fuzz was tickling his nose. Harry tried to pat her back in a way that shifted the hair out of his face.

"And Ron's an idiot,"

"He's _not_ an idiot," said Hermione fiercely,

"Ok, Ron's _not_ an idiot," said Harry, "But Ginny _is_ annoying?"

"Yes,"

"Ok," Harry found he was grinning.

"They're both really lovely, but just very _confusing_ right now, and I can't even be nice to them when they're trying to be helpful because I'm just so- so-"

"Overwhelmed?" supplied Harry, feeling more and more pleased with Ginny's bizarrely invasive advice.

"Yes," Hermione sighed and let go of him, "I know it's hot, but I want to eat really expensive Italian food. Can we go have dinner, just us this evening? And you can tell me all your problems?"

"Erm…" said Harry, feeling put on the spot, and alarmed by the thought of telling Hermione all about his problems which at this point included, but were not limited to, mild panic about how fast things were moving with Ginny.

"Look, I know you're all upset and confused about Teddy Lupin,"

A wave of relief washed over Harry, promptly followed by a little puff of stress and anxiety.

"Oh. Right. Yes. Yeah, I am. I don't know what I should do really-"

"Not now, I'm too hot and confused- at dinner. I'm going to go have a shower." She gave him another hug. "Thanks Harry,"

"No problem," said Harry, hoping Ron wouldn't overreact at Hermione's upsettingly date-like proposal.


	6. Chapter 6

DINNER

There was something about pasta with fresh seafood that made Hermione feel miles away from her problems. Something so magical, in the muggle sense, about really fresh, well-prepared food, of a sort never served at home or at Hogwarts.

It was odd, she thought, how little she thought of food. It was almost as though she hadn't eaten in years. When was the last time she'd actually _tasted_ anything?

Harry was pushing his food around his plate, and haltingly trying to articulate something about Teddy and godparenting.

The answer came to Hermione in a rush. She took a sip of wine and contemplated Harry's earnest face.

"… and Lupin chose me, you know, so I feel like I should step up… but then Andromeda seems happy… but it's awkward… and I'm not… I don't know if I'm…."

Yes, definitely. She had to be right about this one. She _felt_ right.

"Remus Lupin spent the vast majority of his life believing himself to be completely unlovable." She said, warm from the wine, and feeling certain about something again, "Tonks really knocked his socks off and spun him round. I think he felt responsible for you; that's why he turned up at Grimmauld Place that time when you bit his ear off. I think he really was happy with Tonks, and just couldn't handle it- didn't feel like he deserved it, or had earnt it or something- and was in a flap of feeling like a deputy godparent for you and failing in his duty to protect you all the while being deliriously happy with his new wife-and-baby situation."

Harry stared at her.

"You think he felt guilty about being happy when I was in danger,"

"Yes. And I think when he asked you to be godfather to Teddy, he did it in a fit of deep optimism or pessimism, I'm not sure which. Either he thought he'd survive, buoyed up on all his new found happiness, or he thought you'd no chance of surviving and having to actually do anything, but would be flattered to be asked. And I still think he felt he owed you because of your dad. And Sirius. I think Remus Lupin spent most of his life apologising for his own existence."

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't.

"I don't think Andromeda wants or expects you to take responsibility for Teddy. Actually, I think she'd hate that. Go over, help her out, you know, but don't panic about it- I really don't think Lupin ever considered a future where you might be left holding his baby."

Harry took a big mouthful and discovered it was wine, not water, and he'd picked up the wrong glass.

He swallowed, eyes watering and gazed at Hermione across the table.

"That's the most horribly sad tragic account of a person's life," he said finally, "I thought you liked Lupin,"

Hermione blinked, taken aback.

"I _adored_ Lupin. I mean, I know you all think I fancied Lockhart, but if there ever was a teacher I had a soft spot for it was Lupin. Really clouded my judgement in third year. One out of three? Come on. I think he was the most considerate, thoughtful, humble, honest person I've ever met. I also think he spent a lot of his life deeply unhappy. I don't mean it as a negative thing about him- I think he was a remarkable person, and even more so when you consider the kind of ostracism he was facing. Look, I guess what I'm trying to say is he wasn't used to being happy- and let's face it, we're not used to being happy either. It's not familiar. It doesn't feature much in our experiences, so we mistrust it. But I think he _was_ happy with Tonks, ultimately. I just think he was having a hard time working out how to cope with that, and in the middle of his confusion he asked you to be godfather, and also walked out on his family temporarily in a fit of panic. I really do think it's a classic case of someone being their own worst enemy."

Harry found himself nodding, almost mechanically.

"I'm not happy," he found himself saying.

Hermione gazed at him.

"No," she said quietly, "I don't think any of us are."

"Merlin's balls, Hermione, this is depressing,"

The chink of other people's cutlery and conversation filled the silence.

"Well… if it makes any difference, I am really enjoying this pasta," said Hermione finally, "And it turns out my parents are ok, which… I guess I'm starting to feel good about,"

"Hey… how did they… you know?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Muggle technology," she said dryly, "I should've known."

Harry grinned.

"Are you trying to tell me they outsmarted you?"

Hermione glared at him, caught herself, and pulled a face.

"Maybe,"

Harry scooped up a forkful of pasta.

"Excellent," he said, "Tell me all about it!"

RON'S BEDROOM

Ron lay in bed, sweating, and trying not to feel paranoid about Harry and Hermione going out for dinner. Ginny had initially tried to convince him that she desperately wanted a 'family' dinner, just her and him and George, but this request seemed like utter nonsense right from the start.

Sometimes, Ginny could be very transparent.

"Oh, don't make a fuss, Ron," she'd said, and explained, in the most annoying way possible, that it was _just dinner between friends._

It was odd, but he only felt a little upset by it.

Staring through the dark at the lazy movement of the ceiling fan overhead, Ron discovered he was only really upset because she wasn't speaking to him, and not at all because of dinner with Harry.

_I must be growing as a person,_ he thought mockingly to himself. The idea, ludicrous though it was, secretly pleased him. He rolled over and focused on remembering exactly what it felt like when Hermione had reached for his hand.

He found himself grinning in the dark.

_There's definitely something there._

He was almost completely asleep, when she appeared. A soft knock on the door, her voice, whispering his name, and then she was climbing into bed next to him. It was like a drowsy sort of dream, and he thought it was at first, but she curled up beside him with her arm touching his, and he woke up a bit more, just enough to register it as real and act without thinking. He smoothed back her hair, ran a hand down her shoulder and then went back to sleeping.

In the dark, Hermione smiled.

_There's definitely something there._


	7. Chapter 7

THE GRANGERS' PLACE

Hermione sat on the veranda, hands wrapped around a cold glass of kale and carrot juice. Water gushed down from the sky, fat, heavy raindrops, bigger than any she'd ever seen before.

It was still hot, but the rain brought a cool breeze, a blessing on her overheated brain. Brightly coloured birds, green and red, some with flashes of yellow or blue, huddled damply on the veranda railing, ruffled and wet, waiting out the downpour.

She'd never seen birds like these.

Sometimes, when she stayed the night here, she'd go into the garden with her parents, and watch the floods of multi-coloured birds against the vibrant stone-fruit sky, apricots, peaches, plums, struck through with orange and purple. She'd breathe the green growing smell of the plants, everything crisp and fresh and living, and feel the air, warm and wet clinging to her skin and curling through her hair.

She ate a lot of avocado with lemon and salt, on a kind of bread her parents called kamut.

She humoured the crystal-loving clairvoyant neighbour, and gradually met other people in the hillside community, magic and non-magic alike. It was a peculiar fusion of cultures and technologies. Australian scruffiness with Israeli sense of family, Italian love of food, and peculiarly Canadian manners. The internet signal was boosted magically, and some of the people living there were gamers, there purely for the extremely fast connection speeds. Hermione knew there was something of a legal question mark over this community, that it breached the International Statute of Secrecy, but no-one seemed to care very much. According to the couple a few driveways over, ex-lawyers by trade, there was an annual raid for illegal magical-muggle hybrid objects, but by-and-large they were left alone. Persistence seemed to be the key.

A surprisingly high number of the people living there had at some point been obliviated. Some had recovered partial memory, like her parents, and some had not recovered at all, and had built new lives there in the hills, surrounded by people who knew and understood the challenges of living in the grey zone between muggle and magic and memory. Some of them had been obliviated by the government, years ago, and had managed to retain enough memory to keep the little spark of the community alive, hanging on and welcoming people searching for balance.

Hermione sat and listened to the rain, feeling tension wash away, and calm take its place. It was so far away from the battlefields of England, the clamour of London, the cold of the nights in the tent, and all the pain and anguish of their year on the run.

The others were enjoying the novelty of this funny hinterland community. Harry seemed perversely fascinated by the spiders and snakes, and Hermione was beginning to suspect he had a danger addiction. His favourites were the wallabies though. He'd wander through the properties after them, mesmerised by their behaviour and manners.

It seemed odd really, because he'd always been a bit indifferent to care of magical creatures, and it wasn't as though he'd ever swap a broom for a hippogriff.

"What is it about them?" she'd asked, one evening, as they watched them hop and feed and lounge around, like a family of people in a different physical form, just going about their business.

Harry had blinked and scratched his head, sunset glinting off his glasses.

"Dunno really. I guess they just look… free."

And she thought she understood what he meant.

So different. So far away.

Ron spent a lot of time hanging out at a place a few driveways down. The woman who lived there, Maggie, ran a café in Mullum, selling raw vegan food. He'd gravitated there quite naturally, and had gone quite pink with flattery when Maggie had declared he had an excellent palate, and asked him to taste test all her newest inventions.

Apparently, being willing to eat anything, and prepared to say it tasted awful, was a rare talent.

Hermione chastised herself quietly- that wasn't kind. Perhaps he did have some way with food? It was hard to tell what he was good at exactly. He was still so…

Pared down to defeat Voldemort or die trying.

She supposed she was too, in her own way.

So used to study, and fear, and panic. So used to intense responsibility and split-second decision making that could mean life or death.

If she could grant him the space to experiment, to try something new, discover a new talent… if Harry could find a fascination in wildlife all of a sudden… what was there that she might find?

Ginny spent her days at the beach. George meanly said she was farming freckles.

George spent his days with Ahaana. Seeing the sights. Sky diving. Paragliding. All the muggle flying options really. Broomless days spent trying to chase the cobwebs out of his mind.

Hermione sat and watched the rain.

They weren't coming back to Britain. They were happy here, in their little wilderness, surrounded by people who both understood and didn't understand them. They belonged. They planted fruit trees and wore crocs, and did the dentistry thing part time. They were happy.

Hermione felt the calm rush of the rain all around. Soothing. Steady.

It would be so easy to stay here, out the back of beyond, eating mangoes and macadamia nuts, and watching the birds.

Her parents were staying.

Her parents. The ones she'd abused with her magic.

They had a new life.

They were healing.

They were staying.

Hermione gazed out into the grey-green of the rain, seeing and unseeing.

_Who am I, without the study, without the Dark Lord to be defeated? Who was I before magic? Who will I become if I go home? _Can_ I go home now, if they're staying here? They only half remember me… how can I leave when there's so much to rebuild- I want it to be better this time. They don't remember all the tears, all the arguments. They don't remember what it was like when they lost their memories. We could be a family here, where being a witch or a muggle or a squib is almost a sidenote…_

As she stared, wrapped quietly in her rolling thoughts, he appeared, running and slipping in the mud, drenched completely, massive and masculine and alarmingly powerful. This was not a version of him she knew well. It was almost as though, distracted by the pummelling of the rain, he'd forgotten to make himself seem small. Hermione tipped her head to the side, considering, like a bird.

Then he was up the steps, shaking his hair like a dog, and grinning guiltily, and glancing down at the grass and mud plastered all over his long, long legs.

_What happens to us if I stay?_


	8. Chapter 8

IN THE STREET, BYRON BAY

"Erm," said Harry, blinking.

"Pretty much," said Ron, taking a big lick of chocolate ice cream, "Do we break it up?"

"Erm," said Harry again, swapping his own ice cream to his left hand, just in case he needed his wand.

"_You think you're the only one that cares about Fred!"_ Ginny was bellowing, red with emotion, hot tears spitting off her cheeks.

"You're not a twin, you don't know what it's like-" George sounded impatient, annoyed.

_"__I lost my brother, you total arse-"_

_"__My twin_, you selfish, stupid-"

_"__How DARE you-"_

"Don't even think you understand what it's like-"

_"__Your grief isn't more important than mine! You don't know what he means to me, he was the only one who understood-"_

_"__HE WAS MY TWIN. I FELT IT WHEN HE DIED, GINNY, I FELT WHAT HE FELT. SO JUST SHUT UP, OK, YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING."_

George's voice was booming all of a sudden, his face red and scrunched up, rage and grief shaking though him, making him seem taller, broader, somehow more normal than he'd been in months, but also more monstrous.

Tears streamed down Ginny's face.

"You felt-"

"_Just shut up."_ George gave her a look of loathing, dumped his uneaten ice cream in a nearby bin and strode off.

Ginny looked like she'd just been punched in the face.

Ron took another hasty lick of ice cream to stop it dribbling onto his fingers.

"Tell you what," he said lightly, "You deal with Ginny, I'll go keep an eye on George,"

"Er… right. Yes, ok…"

Ron loped off after George, ducking his head on the way past Ginny to say, in an urgent tone:

"You've got an ice cream emergency there, Gin, quick, before it melts everywhere,"

To Harry's surprise, Ginny's focus shifted promptly from the middle distance where George had been, back onto the fast-melting ice cream in her hand. Harry seized what he assumed was a temporary hiatus to steer her away from the ice cream shop, down the street towards the park by the beach.

He found a nice bench for them to sit on, under what he assumed was the Australian equivalent of a pine tree. It was sort of bedraggled and scruffy, with dark greenish grey needles, and hard, spiky little seedpods that littered the grass and meant walking bare foot was a bad idea.

Sniffles and tears were the quiet sound track, overlaid on the sounds of the sea, and children playing, and cars parking, and Australian accents mingled with international tourist languages. They ate their ice creams, wiped their sticky fingers on serviettes, and Harry got up to put the remains in the bin. He came back and crouched down in front of Ginny, looking up at her, concern all over his face.

Ginny bit her lip.

"He used to sneak me sweets," she said, her voice barely audible, "When I was little. And he helped me… He helped… I miss him so much…"

Tears welled in her eyes, and Harry leant forward, kneeling, to hug her tightly as grief and anguish took hold and she cried as though… well, as though her brother had been killed.


End file.
